


until the sun goes cold

by orphan_account



Category: Dynasty (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Mental Illness, Mentions of Blood, i have no idea what this is, i wrote this in one sitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25773190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: But you never came home.
Relationships: Kirby Anders/Fallon Carrington
Comments: 7
Kudos: 5





	until the sun goes cold

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> I'd just like to apologise for whatever this is. I don't know either. This is based off an old fic you gave me wings and taught me to fly which isn't up anymore, but you can read the outline and deleted chapters under my pinned tweet at @rosefirby! This is weird and dark and I'm sorry.  
> Also, thank you to Amanda for betaing this for me!  
> Happy reading!

Why does it never last? Why do you slip through my fingers; always escape my grasp? You stay a while, then flit away like smoke in gale-force winds. A breathy laugh, an almost smile, and you slink away again. Replace your lips with goosebumps, your presence with the cold. Why don’t you ever stay long? I miss you down here.

When you come to visit, I think about the days when you didn’t have to. When I had you at my side to touch and smell and see. You could talk all day and I’d never get bored of you. You don’t talk when you come to visit. You sit in your favourite white dress – the one you bought in Prague, with the lace and flowy skirt – and stare at me, asking me to come back with you. I can’t. You know I can’t. But, you ask anyway, your eyes burning holes in mine, pulling me towards you. You always leave before I reach you. You always ask me to come with you, but never let me go.

The night you left, you made such noise. You knocked everything off the bathroom counter and stained the edge of the bath. You lay on the floor with your eyes rolled back in your head, wriggling your body around. You jerked and you jerked, and you writhed and you writhed, and you never once answered when I knocked, or when I called your name. Your lips went blue and your skin went grey and your blood never came out from the tiles. You lay on the floor with your eyes to your brain and you never once answered when I called your name.

I sat by your side, pleading and pleading. But all you did was shake your head. No. No. No. I called for help and they took you away, and you never came home again. You stayed with them. You stayed in the hospital with them and you never came home. You never came back to me.

You made your father cry, made him retire. Made him return to his home. You didn’t go with him. You stayed in Atlanta. Preferred to live on your own. Your mother came to visit, but you never said a word to her. She hadn’t seen you in a year. It was very rude of you, but no one called you out. Because you can do no wrong, my dear. You can make your family sob and sob and sob, but it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault.  _ No one was to blame. _ You left us. But it was never because of you.

You never said goodbye, and neither did I. It made my brother angry that I didn’t, he shouted and yelled for days. No one was angry at you for leaving without even leaving a note.  _ You did not want this _ . Of course. But I didn’t want this either, my love.

Before you left, we were perfect. To be married. You bought us rings and declared you’d love me forever, and I promised to be your wife. You told me you’d love me until the sun went cold. You didn’t. You walked away from that. Left me for somewhere better. Never to be seen again. But it isn’t your fault. It isn’t my fault.  _ It’s just the way it is. _

I took you to Europe. To France and Italy and Denmark, the Netherlands and Germany and England. You loved it and I loved you. For you it was never enough - the sightseeing and shopping and travelling on trains. You didn’t want the distraction. You said all you wanted was me. But you’re a liar.

Now, you only visit when I pray hard enough. When you do, you keep your lips sealed and your body barely there. Flickering in the light and swaying in the breeze. You only come on invitation; never of your own accord. Because you don’t want me anymore.

I still wear your ring. It turned my finger green, and I get little circulation. But you’d grow furious if I removed it - you’d cancel our silent meetings. Despite everything, I want you here, with me, always. To have and to hold and keep in my pocket. Yet you leave and you leave. And only sometimes come back. I’m the moth to your flame, but you keep sputtering out.

The first you visited, I was in the bath. My head beneath the water, one foot in the grave. My heart pounding in my ears and the water sloshing over the sides of the tub. I couldn’t go through with it, and you laughed at me. Called me a coward without parting your lips. Jeered at me when I sat up coughing, blood pouring from my nose and mouth and marbling the water. Pointed and snickered when I climbed out, naked and freezing and in need of your love. You disappeared like a puff of smoke when I came too near. You always vanish into thin air when I want you most. You no longer care for me. Still, I tried to put you in my pocket for safekeeping. You always wormed your way out.

Your last visit, I was driving home for the first time since you left. It was cold and it was raining, and you sat in the passenger’s seat, head bopping to the drivel on the radio. It was so unlike you. You never once looked at me until we reached an intersection, and you spoke for the very first time. Your voice was hoarse from lack of use and shrill with all your anger. I would never have thought it to be you hadn’t the words slipped from your own lips.

“Do it,” you said, your eyes hollow and fiery at the same time. Like the flames were using your soul as fuel. You gripped the armrest with your fingers, your nails biting holes in the leather, revealing its fluffy organs.

“Do it!” You repeated, your aura glowing red. Angry and restless and waiting for me. Just as I had waited for you for all these years. So, I did as I was told, and I spent three glorious months with you in the tulip field in Holland. Though, you never kissed me once.

I only visited you once, which was selfish on my part. I was too afraid to see you, scared to see how you’d changed. You’d moved across the city to a place with a garden and lots and lots of neighbours. I never asked if you liked it there, but you never complained. I brought you a coffee and we talked just like old times. You hung your favourite poem on the wall, and I read it over and over until the words blurred and danced around.

_ ‘Tell me a story _

_ about how the sun _

_ loved the moon so much _

_ she died every night _

_ to let her breathe.’ _

I spoke to the words on the headstone as though I was talking to you.

After, I went home to the apartment we used to share. I took off my ring and you took my hand, pulled me back to the tulip field.

The sky is blue and clear, the grass an impossible shade of green. It’s more beautiful than I remember. You call my name and hug me tight. I love you more than I remember.

“Let go.” You ask and you plead and beg and you cry. You grip my dress and tears stain its fabric.

“Okay,” I say with a ghost of a smile. My body is light, and my soul is free. I’ve joined you.

I’m dead before my body hits the floor.


End file.
